"You must always be wagging your tongue at me," cried Rasselwitz, who just then entered, and had caught the last words. "Well, and do I lie?" asked Netz: "Are you not led in a string by the fair stranger?" "Would to Heaven she only thought it worth her while to lead me! but at present she cares little about me." "And yet you are always dangling after her, and paying court to her when and how she pleases. What a great fool should I be if I were to suffer myself to be so trotted about, and all to no purpose! Love's pay must follow love's service, or else I care nothing for love, or all the women of the earth." "Time brings roses. I don't yet give up all hope." "Holloa, gentlemen!" cried Schindel; "this is a conversation for the tavern when you can no longer tell Hungary from Rhenish. How can you think of amusing the noble ladies here present with your courtesans?" "You are in a gross error, Herr von Schindel," said Netz warmly. "The lady, of whom we speak, by no means belongs to that loose craft. Since she has lodged with the Dutch nurseryman at the Park, she has led so still and retired a life, that she may well be set up as a model for other women. Besides, the splendour of her clothes and furniture betokens great wealth, as her dignified manners are a sign of her high birth." "And yet lodges at the Park?" retorted Schindel; "and allows the young men free access to her? That is strange! But who is she, and what would she here? It does not at all please me, when a handsome female wanders about the world in this way without protection." "Thus much she has confessed to me," said Rasselwitz; "her abode here has a mighty object; but what that object is she does not as yet hold me fit to be entrusted with." "If the girl should have some evil design towards you?" said Schindel thoughtfully. "We have many a warning-tale from the olden time of young libertines having been allured by some beautiful unknown, and, when at last they fancied themselves at the goal of their wishes, they grasped in their arms a hellish monster. At all events you will do well to be cautious with your new acquaintance." He was interrupted by the slow approach of footsteps. Supported by Seidlitz, Tausdorf tottered into the room, and with a friendly smile upon his pale features, stretched out his arms towards Althea, who instantly hastened to the man of her affections, exclaiming, "Gracious Heavens! what has happened to you, Tausdorf?" "A slight accident, not worth talking of. As I was entering the town-gate my horse shied and would not go forward, and, when I attempted to force him on, he reared so high that he fell over with me." "And you have been wounded by the dreadful fall?" "Oh, no. I did, indeed, strike my head against the pavement in falling, but my hat broke the force of the blow." "Has your horse ever shown such vice before?" asked Schindel. "No," replied Tausdorf. "You know my old gray: he was the most docile beast that I ever rode."